


Wanderlust

by Cheshyr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Pack Bonding, Pack Family, but happy ending!, slow-build, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:04:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshyr/pseuds/Cheshyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles needs to move, to leave, and after graduation he has every intention to do just that. Unless his pack can convince him otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This IS beta'd! But it's NOT season two compatible (I wish it was, there's some stuff I would have loved to have incorporated, but I started this forever and a day ago, so... XP). Also, I seriously eff-ed with the timeline in this. I am aware of that. It was actually intentional. So just... just go with it, okay? Please don't send me angry comments about how I got their grade/ the year wrong. Send me angry comments about anything else, just please not that. :)
> 
> I DO WHAT I WANT.

“FREEDOM!” Stiles Stilinski cried as he burst from the doors of Beacon Hills High School on the last day of his junior year. Grinning widely, he threw his arms around Scott and Allison, walking with them towards their cars. “Ah, summer. What a glorious time we have entered, filled with no homework, or practices, or anything else that I don’t want to do.”

Allison and Scott laughed at their friend’s antics, both glad to be out of school themselves as well. Freeing themselves from Stiles grip, they moved to stand beside each other, holding hands as they always did when they were within reach. The huntress smiled, “What are you going to do this summer, Stiles?”

The teenager tilted his head in thought. “I don’t know.”

But the next morning, when the sun was just rising and Stiles woke to the sound of the wind howling outside his window, he knew.

~

Stiles barely knew his mother. His memories of her are hazy, blurred around the edges like an antique photograph. In the drawer of his bedside table there is a picture of him and his mother shortly after he was born. He is sitting on her lap, clumsy baby hands reaching out towards her long brunette locks, grasping at the ringlets that fell past her shoulders. There is a smile on each of their faces, but it doesn’t reach his mother’s eyes, which are glancing off-camera to her right. Stiles once took that photo into the living room where it had been taken and held it before him, trying to find what his mother had been looking at. It was the door.

Even as his hand dropped, picture held loosely by his side, Stiles is not the slightest bit surprised. Because as soon as she could, as soon as her husband got promoted to sheriff and they could afford a babysitter, she was gone. She got in her car, picked a direction and drove. She always came back, sometimes after a week, sometimes after a month. Once, when Stiles was six, his mother drove away and he didn’t see her until he was seven. 

Every time she left, his father’s frown got a little bit deeper, his eyes a little sadder, and his nights a little more drunken. But every time she came back, he would light up. When he heard the familiar sound of her car pulling into the driveway, he would jump up and run outside and they would kiss each other lovingly on the porch. She would pick Stiles up and spin him around and tell him how much he had grown. Then they would all sit together and Mrs. Stilinski would show them pictures and tell them stories late into the night until Stiles drifted off on her shoulder. 

When Stiles is nine, he goes upstairs and finds his mother packing, folding her clothes and placing them in a neat stack inside her suitcase, preparing for another quick exit. Standing in her doorway, Stiles asks her to take him with her.

“Oh honey,” she sighs and strokes his hair. “No.” Then she turns back and continues packing, and Stiles can never bring himself to ask again.

While Stiles sometimes wishes he could be mad at his mom, wishes he could cry and ask why he isn’t a good enough reason for her to stay, as he gets older he starts to understand why she needs to leave. He grows up and Beacon Hills stays the same, the landscape never changing, and the wind seems to call to him, enticing him with dreams of what else is out there. 

A year later, his mom has been gone for two months when they get a call telling them she won’t be coming back.

~

When the sheriff walks downstairs at seven in the morning, he expects his son to still be sleeping, enjoying the relaxation that comes with the first day of summer vacation. Instead, he finds Stiles wolfing down a bowl of cereal, his backpack on the floor beside him and his car keys on the table by his hand. His father sighs, and Stiles looks at him apologetically. 

“I’ll be back before school starts, I swear.”

“I know, I know.” He sits down across from the teenager and just watches him in silence. When he is finished eating, Stiles puts his bowl in the sink, picks up his bag and his keys, and kisses his father’s forehead before rushing out the door. It isn’t until that night that the sheriff goes into his son’s room and realizes that he left both his phone and his laptop. He sits heavily on the bed, already dreading the months to come.

~

It takes almost two years for the Stilinskis to start grieving, and by then it feels too late. She was gone, and they went to the funeral, but when the father and son went home nothing felt difference. They didn’t feel her absence, because she had never really been there in the first place. 

Then one day when Stiles comes downstairs for breakfast, still half asleep, he mumbles under his breath, “When’s mom coming home?” The sheriff’s head snaps to him and Stiles freezes in the doorway. They are silent, the air around them thick with tension. Finally, the twelve-year-old turns around and returns to his room. When his father eventually creeps upstairs to check on him, he finds his son sitting on the edge of his bed, hand on his chest as he quietly gasps for breath, tears streaming down his face because _oh God_ , his mom really wasn’t coming back, she was dead and he had barely noticed, what kind of son did that make him?

But life goes on, and the two remaining Stilinskis still can’t bring themselves to talk about it, as if it might make things easier to pretend she had never been there at all. So Stiles learns to breathe again and the Sheriff chases after arsonists and everything is fine. Stiles meets Scott in eighth grade, and his father is glad to see his son finally have a friend who looks like he’ll actually stick around.

~

For the first week, Scott waits for Stiles to call him. His friend had been so excited, he figured it would be no time before the werewolf was being dragged into all sorts of mischief to satisfy the hyperactive teenager’s endless energy. But the call never comes. And at first Scott doesn’t think much of it, figuring Stiles maybe wanted some time to relax now that classes were over, and so he spends that time with Allison. But eventually he starts getting a bit worried. So finally, he picks up the phone to call Stiles. But it goes straight to voicemail. He frowns and leaves a message, and can’t stop himself from calling four more times that day. The concern grows until it finally breaks when he calls around and finds out that no one has seen the other boy since school got out. So a week and a half into summer vacation, Scott makes his way over to the Stilinski house, determined to figure out what was going on with his friend.

~

Stiles runs away for the first time when he is fourteen during Spring break. He sees the way his dad watches him, and knows that he will not--cannot-- understand why Stiles needs this. So he writes his dad a note filled with apologies and promises to be back by the Sunday before school starts again, packs a small bag with clothes and food, and takes all the money he has and buys a train ticket to Sacramento. He keeps his phone on silent, and checks the growing number of voicemails every night. His father’s voice goes from furious, demanding he come home immediately, to desperate, pleading with him. Stiles lies about his age and stays in a hostel, the workers well aware of his lie but not willing to send him to the streets. He spends his days just walking, seeing everything he can, talking to strangers and exploring the new city. 

When he finally arrives back home, the sheriff opens the door and hugs him, gripping him tightly to his chest, and whispers, “I don’t want to lose you, too.” That night they talk, but they don’t resolve anything. They hold all the love in the world for each other, but neither really understands the other.

On Stiles’ sixteenth birthday, they have another talk because more than anything, his father absolutely does not want to give his son a car. He does not want to gift him with an easier way to leave. They try to compromise, they really do, but the best they can do is Stiles holding his father’s hand and saying, “ _I promise I’ll come back._ ” 

A few weeks later, Stiles is in San Diego, sleeping in his Jeep at night and eating the best Mexican food he’s ever had by day. 

He keeps his promise, though. He always comes back. Stiles makes sure to never miss school and he keeps his trips private, never mentioning them to Scott for reasons he himself doesn’t really understand. It’s just something he doesn’t want to share. So sometimes he drives a few towns over to go to the library or some random restaurant, and maybe he pays an obscene amount for gas, but it quells the restlessness in his chest--the days when the winds blows and Stiles knows that today, he cannot follow.

~

Scott knocks loudly on the front door of his best friend’s house. A part of him fully expects Stiles to open the door, smile sheepishly and give some excuse about breaking his phone or getting caught up in some RPG or something. What he doesn’t expect is the Sheriff to open the door, the lines around his mouth stark against his face, tight with tension, and his eyes looking very, very tired. 

The teenager blinks, before finally stuttering out, “Um, hey Mr. Stilinski. I was, uh, looking for Stiles. Is he here?”

The older mam closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply through his nose. “He didn’t tell you. Why am I surprised?” He says it more to himself, but Scott still frowns in confusion.

“Didn’t tell me what?”

Sighing, the sheriff runs a hand across his mouth. “Stiles left. He… he does that sometimes. He’ll be back by the time school starts, though.”

“Wait.” Scott shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “He left? Where did he go?” 

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “He told me he doesn’t like to think about it. Prefers to just pick a direction and see where it leads him.” The sheriff smiles fondly, but Scott is still gaping on the doorstep. 

“But, I’ve been calling him and he hasn’t–”

“He didn’t take his phone this time. Or his laptop.”

“He’ll be back by August though, right? That’s what you said?”

“Yeah, he’s always careful not to miss school.”

And that is the part Scott can’t wrap his head around. “He’s really done this before?”

He nods. “Has for a couple years now, always during breaks. He used to only leave for a week or two at a time, because he had to pay for transportation and a place to stay, but now he just sleeps in the car and uses most of his money on gas.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Scott can’t keep the hurt from bleeding into his voice.

Mr. Stilinski puts a hand on his shoulder sympathetically. “It’s nothing personal, son. It’s just something he needs to do.”

Scott nods and walks back to his car. It takes him only a few minutes to call everyone in the pack, telling them to meet at the Hale house. He doesn’t want to think about this alone.

~

“He’s just gone?” Allison asks, her voice slightly confused.

“Just for the summer, but yeah. Apparently he does this a lot.” It took Scott the entire drive to the woods, but he finally figured out that what really bothered him was the fact that he hadn’t noticed before. Even when he never saw him over vacations, Stiles had always picked up his phone, never hinting that he wasn’t in town as they talked.

“Well fine.” Jackson crosses his arms, trying to sound uncaring, but giving the impression of a petulant child, upset that he didn’t get his way. “So we have to spend a few months without Stilinski, big deal. If anything we’ll probably get more done without his constant chatter.”

“It will be nice to have some peace and quiet,” Lydia muses. 

Derek is silent. He leans against the wall and watches as his pack comes to the conclusion that three months without the hyperactive human wouldn’t be so bad, and that they would bug him about not saying goodbye to them when he got back. They talk about how much more productive they would be without Stiles’ distractions and clumsiness. They laugh that if anything, they’ll be getting a call from him within weeks about needing to get him out of some jam he got himself into. The alpha simply looks out the window and listens to the wind through the trees.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles heads to Vegas first, although he soon realizes it’s not that great. The bright lights are alluring, but he doesn’t have a fake ID so there’s not actually a lot he can do. At one point, he gets turned around trying to find where he parked his car and winds up in a not-so-great part of town at eleven o’clock at night.

It is here that Stiles meets Carly, a tall platinum blonde with tight clothes, stiletto heels, and so much make-up he wonders what she actually looks like. She smiles coyly and asks if she can show him a good time. He blushes and sputters like the awkward virgin he is. Eventually, they establish that Stiles does not have nearly enough money to afford her. Just as she is rolling her eyes and walking away, he impulsively stops her, explaining that he may not have enough for her services, but he has enough for two cheeseburgers.

Carly leads him to a twenty-four hour diner that she swears has the best milkshakes in the state, and Stiles treats her to a late dinner. He finds out that Carly is twenty-four, not trying to put herself through school or a single mother, just a girl who needed money and decided that she was okay with this kind of work. She tells him about some less fortunate friends, some memorable clients, her nine-year-old niece who is an amazing painter. Stiles tells her about his mom, his dad, his friend who everyone used to think was a murderer. 

When they finish eating, Carly gives him her email, directions to the freeway, and a kiss on the cheek, along with a promise to send him pictures of her miniature schnauzer. Stiles blushes and smiles, wishing her a good night and happy hunting. He finally tracks down his Jeep and catches a four hour nap in the backseat before following Carly’s directions and moving on.

~

The first few weeks are fine. Scott spends most of his time with Allison, with intermittent outings to spend time with the entire pack. Jackson and Lydia will occasionally be seen together, but otherwise they do their own thing. Derek lurks in his house as he always has. They are all content, enjoying the relaxing days of summer.

It gets a little worse when Allison and Scott get in a fight. It’s over something stupid, and it shouldn’t escalate the way it does, but they have no third wheel to buffer them. And when Allison storms away and gets in her car, she is halfway down the driveway before she realizes that she can’t go to Stiles’ to vent as she usually would because he’s not there. She turns the car off and punches the steering wheel in frustration.

~

Stiles was afraid of heights until he went to the Grand Canyon. On a whim, he decided to shell out some of his money on a guided tour, hiking to the top and back with a group of other tourists, taking pictures, and learning the history of the great ravine. 

When he gets to the top, Stiles is determined to make the most of his experience and so, hands trembling, he steps out onto the Skywalk, the glass platform extending over the canyon edge. He expects to be more scared. Hell, he expects to be terrified. But when he reaches the end, he looks down, and he feels like if the platform broke he wouldn’t fall. He would fly. 

~

By the end of the first month, the pack is beginning to realize the error in their initial reactions. The group is gathered at the Hale mansion when they hear Lydia slam the refrigerator door closed in the kitchen.

“Derek! Why do you have no food?”

The alpha frowns. “What?”

“Your kitchen is completely devoid of food,” the teenage girl answers as she walks back into the room, crossing her arms judgmentally. “Aren’t you supposed to be providing for your pack? I find the lack of sustenance insulting.”

For a moment, Derek just looks confused. “I never run out of food, Stiles always–” 

The entire room freezes. As he spoke, each person had turned their heads as if to glance at the hyperactive human, only to remember that he wasn’t there. Derek closes his eyes because he had forgotten that Stiles was the one who always showed up unannounced with bags of groceries, complaining about how the surly alpha had managed to survive this long without him. And Derek had always responded with a growl, saying he didn’t need Stiles to keep bringing him stuff and to just leave him alone. 

He regrets those words now.

~

Stiles is in Northern Texas when he almost gets mugged. He says ‘almost’ because regardless of his status compared to supernatural beings, Stiles is not weak. So when he is walking back to his Jeep in the middle of the night after checking out a club that had been recommended to him by a local (it was alright) and three guys jump him, Stiles has one of them on the ground clutching his nose before he even fully realizes what’s happening. The second man lasts longer, and manages to get a few hits on the younger boy, but Stiles eventually brings him down as well with a well aimed elbow to the sternum. By then, a stranger has come and tackled the final mugger, kneeing him in a very sensitive spot and giving him a black eye. 

Later, after running away from the figures on the ground, Stiles learns that the stranger’s name is Devon. He is a beefy twenty-year-old with tan skin and black hair as short as Stiles’, and he was apparently very impressed with Stiles’ fighting ability. So much so, in fact, that he impulsively invites the boy to an honest-to-God fight club that he happened to be a part of. 

Stiles ends up staying in Texas for three weeks. Devon lives with his older brother, Michael, and the two agree to let the teenager room with them for the duration of his stay. Stile repays them by agreeing to work part-time with their pool-cleaning business around the neighborhood. He works during the day and every few nights, he and Devon head out to the fight club, and Stiles would be lying if he said it wasn’t a rush, fighting people who are on the same level as him, nothing but the skin on their fists and raw determination. No fangs or claws or super-anything. Against humans, Stiles stands a chance. And so he gets in the ring and he goes all out, and sometimes he wins and sometimes he loses, but he always smiles because Devon will help him up and tell him what he did right and tell him how to improve his form, and for once Stiles doesn’t mind being human. 

At the end of the third week, Stiles has cuts and bruises on his face and knuckles and ribs, but he still hugs Devon and his brother before leaving and gets their facebook information. He watches them wave in the rear-view mirror as he drives away. He looks at the blood on his knuckles and smiles.

~

The second month is full of anger. Members of the pack find themselves slamming doors or throwing things, and ranting and raving about how Stiles is such a jerk and how dare he just leave them like this, ditch them, not be there for them. When Jackson loses his temper and rips up trees or punches holes in walls because Stiles isn’t there to show him how to breathe through it, or when Derek’s training moves into overkill territory because Stiles isn’t there to push him back, or when Allison and Scott are at each other’s throats because they have no mediator, everyone else growls and huffs and curses Stiles’ name. Stiles is gone, and the pack is angry.

~

He’s in Colorado when his money starts to run low. Stiles spends most of his time saving up as much money as he can, specifically so that he has enough for these times. But gas is still ridiculously expensive, and even though he rarely spends money on housing, there’s still the cost of food, and the occasional stop at a Laundromat to factor in. As it was, Stiles does what he always does when money gets tight. 

Driving through Dove Creek, Stiles searches until he finds a tiny diner, not empty but not crowded. He pulls over and walks inside, sitting down for a light lunch. As he orders his food, he strikes up a conversation with the waiter, a young man, maybe a year younger than Stiles, who he finds out is the owner’s son. Once he finishes eating, Stiles admits to the boy--Steven he finds out his name is--that he is looking for a short term job. Steven wastes no time in introducing him to his mother, a plump, friendly looking woman with dark red hair pulled back in a bun. Her name is Lynn, and as soon as she sets eyes on Stiles she immediately fusses that he is too thin, flitting her hands around his face and shoulders, and Stiles feels a pang that is part fondness and part pain at the unfamiliar mothering. Regardless, as soon as he explains his situation, they strike a deal. The teenager will work at the diner, doing whatever is needed, for roughly two weeks at minimum wage, which Stiles doesn’t mind since he will be working full-time. 

It doesn’t take long for Stiles to realize that he got an even better deal than he originally thought, because along with his salary, he is also given more food than he can handle. The cook, an older man named Spencer, insists on feeding him lunch during their break each day, and Lynn gives him boxes of leftovers every night before he left leaves. By sleeping in his Jeep and getting free food, Stiles saves up more than he had hoped.

Stiles cleans, and runs errands, and waits tables, and becomes best friends with all of them. He finds out that Steven is in fact a year younger than him, and is hoping to go to the State college once he graduates and major in business. Spencer is an army vet who was discharged after a leg injury and who loves to cook. Lynn had taken over the diner from her parents, and had lived in Dove creek her entire life. They all spend their days working and laughing, the days running together smoothly.

On the last day of his temporary job, Lynn and Steven invite him to dinner at their house. They live in a small two bedroom apartment a few blocks away, and Stiles finally gets a chance to meet Lynn’s husband. Benny, as he likes to be called, is a quiet, scholarly man, who is long and lean, with wire framed glasses and a thin mop of black hair on his head. He apparently works as a librarian at the local library and teaches seminars on seventeenth century literature twice a month at the community college. Stiles smiles. He didn’t see whole families very often, and sitting among these people made him both hopeful and melancholy. 

When he leaves, Steven pulls out his phone and sends him a facebook request, which Stiles promises to accept when he gets home, and Lynn gives him a grocery bag full of bread, peanut butter, apples, and bottled water. He tells them it is too much, but they insist, Lynn giving him a warm hug and wishing him safe travels. 

As he drives away, Stiles gives them a wave, and silently wonders why he can’t bring himself to stay.

~

August comes quietly, and with it, the pack’s anger slowly fizzles out. They want Stiles back. They all feel the cliché, as they realize they didn’t know what they had until it was gone. Every day they wait now, eyes wide and longing, saying “School starts soon, doesn’t it?” and “He must be back any day now.” The growls turn to whines and cries. The frustration fades into the itch of anticipation. They miss Stiles, they miss their friend, and surely he must come home soon.

On the third Monday of August, one week before the start of the teenagers’ senior year of high school, Scott hears the faint rumble of a familiar engine making its way through Beacon Hills. He had been walking to Allison’s house, but he immediately halts, and without even thinking, throws his head back and howls.

Stiles is home.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Stiles pulls into his driveway, he can see the entire pack gathered across the street. Their expressions are varied, from Derek, whose face is as stoic as ever, to Scott, whose face is about to crack from smiling so wide and looks like he is about to jump out of his skin.

He is a little surprised to see them all here so quickly, but he still smiles and waves. Just as Allison is looking both ways to cross the street to him, he holds up his hands.

“Hold on,” he speaks quietly, knowing they would hear, “I need to see my dad first. Give me a bit and then we’ll catch up, okay?”

The group nods, but after Stiles turns to walk into his house they all exchange a look. They get the feeling that Stiles doesn’t grasp how much his absence and subsequent return has affected them.

Just as Stiles steps onto the porch, the front door is thrown open and he is engulfed in a firm hug from his father. Smiling, the teen returns the gesture, letting out a soft, “Hey dad.”

No matter how often he left, no matter if it was two days or two months, the reunion is always the same. The sheriff would embrace his son before pulling him enthusiastically into the house, as if afraid the boy may try to leave again. Then they sit in the living room, father keeping a steady hand on his son’s shoulder as he tells an abridged version of his journey. The elder Stilinski knows that Stiles doesn’t tell him everything. His wife didn’t either. But he tells what he can, gives away what he’s willing, and the sheriff smiles and laughs and in the end plants a kiss on Stiles’ forehead and tell him he’s glad he’s home.

Flicking his eyes to the window beside the couch, Stiles knows that the pack has been listening to his entire tale, and smiles. When he finally disentangles from his father, he makes his way upstairs to unpack. Unsurprisingly, he finds his bedroom filled with friends, closing the door behind him just as Scott is helping Allison through the window. 

His best friend turns to him, eyes narrowed, attempting to look angry but just looking hurt. “Hey Stiles, thanks for letting us know you were leaving.” The sarcasm is heavy, and Stiles winces.

“Oh, right. Sorry. I figured since it was only for a few months–-"

“’Only a few months’?” Scott cries indignantly. 

Allison places her hand soothingly on her boyfriends shoulder. “Stiles, a few months is a long time, especially to not even know where you were. And we would have liked to know you were leaving in the first place. We were worried.” None of the pack feels the need to mention the weeks of indifference, or the month of anger, or the month of longing. They don’t want to accept any blame.

Sighing heavily, Stiles runs a hand through his short hair. “I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t think you guys would care that much.” All five of the people across from him open their mouths to protest that horrible, horrible statement, to deny that it had almost been true, but Stiles keeps talking, “Next time, I’ll let you guys know beforehand.”

“Next time?” Derek growls, the idea of Stiles wandering away without them unsettling him. He likes his pack to stay together.

“Well, yeah.” The boy shrugs. “This isn’t the first time I’ve done this, and it won’t be the last. Next time I’ll say goodbye first though, okay?”

“Stiles, why do you need to leave at all?” Scott asks what was on all of their minds.

“I just…I don’t like staying in one place for too long.” 

“Yeah, we noticed,” Jackson snorts.

Stiles narrows his eyes coldly. “No you didn’t.” His words are harsh and unforgiving, “I’m not talking about not being able to sit still. I mean that I can’t _stay_ in one place. It’s not boredom, not exactly, it’s just…Something I need to do. Keep moving.”

There is a moment of silence, where the pack absorbs his words, each turning them over in their mind, trying to figure out what is happening. Allison is the first to realize, her eyes widening in dread. “Stiles, what are you going to do after graduation?”

He doesn’t need to answer. It is written on all of their faces, from Scott’s horror to Jackson’s bewilderment to Derek’s utter dismay. Stiles doesn’t need to answer, because they already know. He just confirms.

“I’ve always planned on leaving for good after high school.”

“No.” Scott’s voice trembles because this was never supposed to happen. They had all made assumptions, presumptions about what their life would entail and consist of, just expected that they would all stay together as pack, as family, and while they couldn’t plan for everything they had never even considered that one of them, that _Stiles_ would leave. 

Stiles’ eyes flutter shut and he tries to smile in appeasement. “Guys, I won’t be gone forever. I mean, my dad’s still going to be here, so I’ll always come back to visit. I just–-"

“You just won’t _be_ here.” When Lydia speaks, she tries to keep her words snappish and her gaze condescending, but she still has to cross her arms to hide the tremors in her fingers. 

“Oh come on,” frustration seeps into Stiles’ tone, “you think this means I don’t care? You think that I wouldn’t be back in a heartbeat if you needed me? You think I wouldn’t answer every time you called, for anything?”

“I don’t know, for the past three months you didn’t even _have_ your phone.”

Stiles flinches slightly because, yeah, he deserved that. “I’m sorry. I… I won’t do that next time. I promise. But just because I won’t be here, doesn’t mean I won’t be here _for_ you.”

The pack exchanges glances, and they all look far from happy. Stiles sighs. “Why are we even discussing this now? We’ve still got a year before this even becomes an issue.”

“A year.” Derek’s voice is calm and steady.

“Or at least till the end of school.” Stiles shrugs.

Nodding, the alpha glances at his pack, silently communicating with them before speaking aloud, “Then we have until then to change your mind.”

Stiles opens his mouth to object, but the werewolf is already halfway out the window, the rest of the pack following with a solemnly determined air about them, Scott pausing to give him a small wave and a soft “I’m glad you’re back” before joining the others. Within moments, he is alone. Sitting on his bed, Stiles rests his head in his hands. His senior year just got a lot more interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

The first week of school is the hardest. Every teacher reminds their students that this is an important year, it still counts, you have to try your best or you won’t get anywhere. So Stiles finds himself answering the same questions over and over as each pack member thinks to ask.

“What about college?” Scott leans over to ask during their government class, after the teacher mentions transcripts and applications.

Stiles shrugs. “I might take some online classes, but it doesn’t really interest me. College is so expensive these days, and most of what I learn I teach myself anyway.”

“What about money, or a job?” Jackson grumbles heatedly after their English teacher finishes talking about how good certain classes look on resumes.

“I usually do odd jobs wherever I go to pay for basic stuff. If it ever became too much of an issue I could always find some tech job that allows me to telecommute.”

“Where will you live?” Lydia hisses, her nose crinkling slightly, after their economics teacher points out the horrible housing market.

“I can live out of my Jeep quite comfortably. Most cities have homeless shelters that let me use their shower, and sometimes I even meet people willing to take me in for a week or so.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Allison whispers, eyes wide and worried.

Stiles fixes her with a cold stare. “I can take care of myself.”

The first week is full of questions, and no matter how hard he tries, none of Stiles’ friends seem satisfied with his answers.

~

September is a month of subtlety. It is the pack laying hands on Stiles, casual touches in the hallway than none had bothered to extend before. He walks between classes and feels Lydia’s fingers brush his arm, or Jackson nudge his shoulder, or Allison ruffle his hair fondly, or Scott clap his back. If his classes are far enough apart, sometimes he feels them all. At pack meetings, Lydia rests her head on his shoulder, and when they need something done they slip in a please and thank you. When Stiles runs errands he gets offers to help. When he gives an opinion he gets five pairs of listening ears. 

The strangest part is that Derek plays along as well. Suddenly Stiles isn’t being thrown against walls. When the werewolf glares, it is with clear green eyes, not a hint of red, and when he growls there are no fangs. 

It is nice. But Stiles can’t help but wonder how long it would last if he told them he would stay.

~

October and November are more blatant. Pack bonding nights become increasingly prominent, various teens tugging at Stiles arms, _come carve pumpkins with us, come make caramel apples with us, come trick-or-treating with us._

Stiles loves every second of it. He loves watching Lydia squeal as Jackson holds a handful of slimy pumpkin pulp in front of her face, and watching Scott beg Allison to let him lick the spoon when they cook, and seeing Derek actually laugh. 

Halloween is his favorite, because they all agree to each pair up and have matching costumes. Allison and Scott dress up as Han Solo and Princess Leia, much to Stiles’ approval. Lydia and Jackson decide to go as secret agents, both donning black suits, sunglasses, and fake ear pieces, with Lydia in a short black skirt and Jackson in slacks.

Being the only two unpaired, it was only natural for Stiles and Derek to be placed together for their costumes. When Stiles brings it up, the alpha simply rolls his eyes and says he doesn’t care what they do, a response he regrets almost immediately when he sees the wide, evil grin slowly form on Stiles’ face. 

He puts up a hell of a fight, but Derek has a weakness for Stiles’ words, and before he knows it they are going door-to-door dressed as Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf. Derek borrows an old red hoodie from Stiles, while the human puts on a ridiculously fake pair of furry ears and a tail, sticking plastic fangs in his mouth at the last second. Derek grumbles and growls between each house, but Stiles sees the corners of his lips quirk up when he thinks no one is watching. 

The rest of the pack exchanges glances, smiling knowingly at the bickering pair.

Time moves swiftly and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving. Thursday is spent with family, and Friday is spent with pack. Each teen brings Tupperware containers of leftovers while Derek ventures out into the world to buy a fifteen-pound turkey. Stiles cooks with his dad on Thursday, and gets in a food fight with his friends on Friday, and on Saturday he drives two and a half hours to go to a mall over a hundred mils away to see if there’s anything left from Black Friday sales. He only feels a little better.

~

Beacon Hills High is given three weeks off for Christmas vacation, beginning four days before December 25th. Stiles can feel the weight of his friends’ eyes as he explains that he always leaves on the 27th, giving himself some time away before the start of the spring semester. It is only two and a half weeks, and he promises to bring his phone this time, but he can still see them all steel themselves and he knows that when he gets back they will be redoubling their efforts. 

But Stiles never leaves for Christmas Day. And so in the days between school and the holiday, he helps the group decorate the Hale mansion, stringing icicle lights along the stairs and hanging a wreath on the front door and carrying a small, modest tree into the living room. He makes several trips to the mall, going with Scott and Allison to search for presents for Jackson and Lydia and vice versa. He has no idea what to get Derek. 

Surprisingly, the answer comes to him on Christmas Eve, when the pack is together for lunch before heading to their respective families. They each tell about their own traditions, from gingerbread houses to antique train sets to popcorn garlands. Allison doesn’t mention how Kate always begged her brother to let her put the star on the tree, but Scott still holds her hand under the table. Lydia keeps to herself about being sat down and told to choose who she wants to spend Christmas with, but Jackson keeps an arm around her shoulders. 

Derek doesn’t say anything at all.

Meanwhile, Stiles smiles widely and tells them all about this peppermint cookie recipe his mom used to make and how he’s never managed to get it quite right but every year he tries again. His friends look at him in awe for sharing what must be a painful memory. He doesn’t tell them it’s one of his only memories, other than being left behind. 

He nudges Derek’s shoulder, bumping into him ever few minutes until he finally sees the alpha’s lips twitch upwards. Stiles knows what to get him then.

The next day, after waking his father up at the crack of dawn and exchanging gifts and drinking hot chocolate, Stiles excuses himself for just a moment. He runs upstairs, flips open his cell phone, and dials Derek’s number. The werewolf sounds groggy when he answers, but Stiles just spits out, “Come to my place at three. Don’t be late,” and hangs up without giving the older man a chance to deny. 

Three o’clock rolls around and there is a hesitant knock on the Stilinski’s front door. The sheriff looks up in surprise, before turning to his son questioningly. Stiles grins sheepishly and rubs his neck, “So dad. Funny story…”

From just outside Derek allows his eyebrows to rise in respect. Stiles is good with words. The werewolf listens to the boy spin a story, running into the Hale boy at the market a few months ago, making amends, chatting occasionally, becoming almost friends. Derek smiles softly when Stiles mentions that no one should be alone on Christmas. Stiles is good with words, and he knows how to weave them to his will until suddenly the sheriff is opening the door, smiling a tight, slightly uncomfortable smile, but there nonetheless, and beckoning the werewolf inside.

Derek tries to stand to the side and hide in a corner, but Stiles won’t let him. Instead he is pulled toward them, helping father and son chop vegetables and mix salad dressing and check to make sure the ham doesn’t get too dry. He lights the candles on the table as Stiles whines about not being trusted with matches, and Derek shakes his head fondly. As they eat, the Sheriff relaxes more and more, an easy conversation developing between the three of them. He asks the young man where he’s living, and Derek spins a quick lie about having an apartment downtown and doing various manual labor jobs for work. 

When he leaves, the sheriff gives his a clap on the shoulder and tells him to feel free to come again any time, and Derek stutters out his gratitude in surprise. Before he can get his bearings, Stiles shoves a bag of peppermint cookies into his hands (still not right, according to the boy, but Derek thought they were delicious) and giving the werewolf a brief hug, letting go before Derek can protest.

“Merry Christmas, man.” Stiles grins at him and almost against his will, Derek smiles back.

“Yeah. You too.”

That night, Derek sits in the cemetery before the line of headstones marked “Hale.” He crosses his legs and eats cookies and recounts the entire evening to his family, telling them all about the insane kid who invited the suspected murderer to Christmas dinner at the sheriff’s house. He talks about the pack, and the small stack of gifts he received, and the lights flickering in the halls of their house that look like stars, not fire, and Stiles and Stiles and Stiles. The name rolls off his tongue like a breath. He tells them they would like him.

When he stands to leave, even as he wipes away a few stray tears, he can’t get rid of his smile. 

~

Sometimes, for better or for worse, Derek is impulsive. It is this character trait that leads him to Stiles’ window the day after Christmas, letting himself in without bothering to knock. 

The boy jumps slightly, twisting around from his place in front of his bed where he had been packing. “Derek! Jeez, man, a little warning? My dad doesn’t even want to shoot you anymore. Do you just have something against doors?”

Shrugging, the werewolf turns his attention to the backpack steadily being filled with clothes. He speaks without thinking, “I’m coming with you.”

Stiles’ head snaps to him, eyes wide and jaw dropped. “Um, excuse me?”

Part of Derek feels like maybe he should have asked instead of told, but he doesn’t want to give Stiles a chance to say no. “You’re leaving tomorrow, right? To… go?” He receives a slow nod. “I’m coming with you.”

The human opens his mouth and Derek waits for the loud string of protests. Instead, he just hears the ‘click’ of Stiles’ teeth closing together. He is surprised when the boy looks like he is actually considering it. Surprise turns to shock when Stiles nods. “Fine. You have to be here by five tomorrow morning, got it? I want to get an early start.”

Derek almost makes a snarky comment about Stiles waking before noon, but he figures he’s pushing his luck enough as it is and so he nods and leaves before the other boy can change his mind. 

~

It is barely sunrise when Derek approaches the Stilinski house the next day. Stiles meets him at the front door and motions him into the Jeep. They are on the road by five o’clock sharp.

“Your dad know you’re gone?”

“Yeah, I did this last year too. His Christmas gift to me this year was actually money for gas, so we should be good.” He smiles fondly. “I said goodbye to him last night.”

“Hm,” Derek grunts noncommittally. 

“I also called the rest of the pack.”

“Yeah, I know. I called them last night too to let them know I’d be gone and they said you had already told them.” He glances out the window as they merge onto the freeway, heading east. “Where are we going anyway?”

Stiles grins widely. “The only place to be on New Year’s: New York City!”

The alpha raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Hell yeah! I’ve been to the state, but never the city and never for New Year’s. Always wanted to, though. If we take minimal breaks, we should get there by the thirty-first.”

“I can drive, too, if you want.”

Stiles considers this for a moment. “Yeah, that’d probably be a good idea. We won’t have to drive so constantly on the way back. I just don’t want to miss the New Year.”

There’s something fragile in his voice, a faint note of desperation, but Derek doesn’t say anything. He just fiddles with the radio until he finds a station not on a commercial.

~

They fall into a routine easier than either expected. At night, they will park the car on the side of the road somewhere, Derek always subtly scenting the area for any immediate danger, and then Stiles will banish Derek to stretch out as much as he can in the backseat while Stiles reclines the passenger seat for himself, settling his head by the werewolf’s legs. They eat at diners or gas stations and switch drivers every four hours, sleeping when the sun sinks and waking when it rises, driving as long as they can and only occasionally obeying speed limits. Sometimes they listen to the radio, sometimes a CD, and sometimes Stiles fills the car with mindless chatter that is more soothing than annoying. After the first two days, Derek starts responding, and for the first time since Scott was bitten, they start to act like friends. Stiles learns that one of Derek’s cousins became a vegetarian after Derek accidently mauled a deer during a full moon when he was nine, and Stiles admits that he swore off meat for a year after he saw a documentary on slaughterhouses in middle school. Derek learns that Stiles can say _Where am I_ in twenty-three languages. The werewolf reluctantly confesses that he never did manage to pass Spanish I in high school, so Stiles teaches him random phrases in French. They exchange more and more of these mundane pieces of their lives, and before they know it they actually know each other. 

~

At the end of their second full day of driving, Stiles pulls the car over onto the side of a long, empty road in Kansas. Derek shivers, in part because of the cold wind that gusts around them, middle-America temperatures always harsh in the winter, but also because of the twinge of agoraphobia he feels as he looks around at the nothingness surrounding them, the seemingly endless plains and the complete silence, every sense telling him that they are alone. 

Stiles exits the car, pulling his jacket tight around him, and grabs some of the blankets out of the back, but instead of throwing them onto their respective sleep spaces, he instead tosses them onto the roof.

“Grab the other end, will you?”

Blinking, Derek complies, adjusting the fabric with the boy until it is covering the top of the vehicle. Two pillows and another blanket are casually thrown up to join it. Then Stiles smiles, hoisting himself up onto the roof of the Jeep, beckoning Derek after him. “Come on.”

The two boys settle, lying on their backs side-by-side with pillows under their heads and the extra blanket spread across their legs. Stiles sighs in contentment while Derek stares in wonder.

He has never seen so many stars before. The feeling of emptiness he had felt before is replaced by an overwhelming sense of being very, very small. There are no towns around for miles, and none of them large enough to cause any sort of light pollution. Derek can see the Milky Way, and a few of the more well-known constellations, the Big Dipper and Scorpio, as well as thousands upon thousands, millions, _infinite_ more speckles of light stretching across the inky black sky. 

A soft sigh reaches the werewolf’s ears, and he tears his gaze away from the stars to look at the boy next to him. A soft smile is on Stiles’ face as he stares above him. He never looks away, but he must have felt Derek’s eyes on him or something because a moment later he speaks.

“I never go to the same city twice. Or at least, I haven’t yet. But every time I come across a place like this, completely empty, no big cities around, I always spend the night doing this.”

Derek turns back to look overhead. “Do you know any of their names?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “My dad got me an astronomy book once, but I like it better like this. I don’t like singling out some specific star or planet, or dividing them into constellations. I like looking at the whole thing.”

Humming in agreement, Derek can understand. They don’t talk the rest of the night. Eventually they fall asleep but wake up after a little over an hour, shivering in the coldness of the night. They climb off of the roof and, for the first time, they both crawl into the backseat, pulling all their blankets together and huddling for warmth. Stiles drifts off with his head on Derek’s bicep, the werewolf’s body heat radiating around him, while Derek succumbs to sleep shortly after.

In the morning, they wake as the sun is rising and slowly exit the car, both stiff and achy from the cramped space. Derek cracks his back, and Stiles complains that he is starving, sliding into the driver’s seat and pulling a granola bar from the glove compartment. He offers half to Derek before speeding down the highway, rambling on about getting to the next town as fast as possible so they can get some real food.

Derek chuckles and looks out his window, watching the scenery fly by around him.

~

They arrive in Manhattan at three o’clock on December thirty-first. They find an overpriced parking garage and agree to split the cost so they don’t have to waste time searching for something better. Stiles is practically buzzing with energy, all quick motions and fast words, even more than usual, but Derek just laughs and shakes his head fondly as he is dragged down into the subway. They spend ten minutes analyzing the different lines before buying a ticket and making their way into the city.

Times Square is already packed with people by the time they arrive at four-thirty and only promises to fill more. It takes them awhile to situate themselves in a decent location, settling at Broadway and 50th, while each chews a hot dog, having grabbed them at a vendor before entering the celebration area. Around them the crowds grow, noise increasing as performers begin making their appearances. The two boys laugh at the crazy outfits that people wear, and comment on the different artists singing and dancing to celebrate the end of the year. They watch various coverage on one of the display screens hanging in front of them. At eleven-twenty, Stiles turns to Derek.

“So sourwolf, what’s your New Year’s resolution?”

If Derek was anyone but Derek, he might answer, _to make you stay_. But he doesn’t. Instead he grunts noncommittally and shrugs. “What’s yours?”

“Ah, ah, ah.” The boy wags his finger at the werewolf. “If you won’t tell me yours, I won’t tell you mine.” He is smiling, and his tone is light, but he still doesn’t answer, changing the subject instead and Derek feels a pang of regret. 

At eleven fifty-nine, the ball begins to descend and the crowd surges around them. For a moment they begin to drift apart, the horde of people pushing between them, until their hands find each other, pulling back until they are pressed shoulder to shoulder, their grip on each other tight so as not to be lost in the masses. In the background, some reporter makes a throw-away comment about grabbing your loved ones. Stiles’ eyes flick towards Derek, who feels his heart beat just a little faster. The countdown continues, and they lift their voices with the rest of the city.

“THIRTEEN. TWELVE. ELEVEN. TEN–”

Stiles’ voice fades away, turning his gaze to the man beside him.

“EIGHT. SEVEN–”

Derek looks back, his own voice going silent. His senses are in overdrive, surrounded by so much stimulation. Overwhelmed by strobe-lights and stereos and so many bodies pressed against his, but for a moment all he can feel is Stiles’ hand in his as he tries to remember who reached out first.

“THREE. TWO–”

The way Stiles leans forward, his eyes drifting until they are half-lidded, Derek knows what is coming. He can see what is about to happen, and he feels himself freeze, rapidly trying to decide what do, what he wants to do. At the very last second, Derek turns his head away.

He isn’t sure what he expected to happen after that, but it definitely wasn’t for Stiles to firmly, meaningfully place a kiss on Derek’s cheek, his momentum carrying him through and his lips landing softly as if that had been his intention all along. Derek is vaguely aware of the explosion of cheering around them, of fireworks and glitter and flashing lights. He closes his eyes, focusing on the gentle gesture of affection warming his cheek, and the feel of Stiles’ lips curling into a smile against his skin, savoring it before it is gone. He feels Stiles squeeze his hand and pull back just enough for his breath to ghost over the werewolf’s ear.

“Happy New Year, Derek.”


	5. Chapter 5

At Stiles’ insistence, they take Route 66 home since school doesn’t start until the fourteenth, giving them more time. They drive up to Chicago on January second and spend the day eating pizza and walking down Navy Pier. It takes them eight days to get back across the country, taking their time at the major cities on the road, taking in the sights and sounds of all the famous landmarks. When they finally make it to California, Stiles makes Derek pull over as they drive through Hollywood. 

“Come on man, the trip’s almost over!” He pulls the alpha close, throwing one arm over his shoulders while the other holds out his phone.

And just like that, it’s over. Derek walks into his mansion and throws his bag on the floor and shakes his head in disbelief because he was in a car with Stiles Stilinski for over two weeks and he actually had fun.

The day after their return to Beacon Hills, Stiles shows up at the Hale house and gives Derek a hardcopy of the picture.

“I won’t put it online or anything, so I thought you might like a copy.” The boy smiles before giving the other a quick wave and driving away again.

It is the only photo from the entire trip. In it, the two are standing together with the Hollywood sign in the corner behind them. Stiles is grinning widely, pressed against the werewolf with one arm swung around his neck. Derek is angled slightly towards the younger, head tilted down, but eyes still visible enough to cast a slight lens flare across the paper, light streaking through both of them. His face is clearly trying to scowl, but you can also see the way the corner of his lips edge up, the slip of a smile caught on film like evidence.

Derek doesn’t show the others and he doesn’t know if Stiles does, either. Instead, he goes inside and places it carefully inside his pillowcase, so only he can see. 

~

Spring semester starts, and Stiles is almost immediate fixed with sidelong glances and unsubtly subjected to his friends’ conversations about college applications and whether they’ve heard back from anywhere. It ends exactly like he expects it to.

“What about you, Stiles? You waiting to hear from anywhere?”

He has to steel himself, because this is harder than he expected. “I told you guys, I’m not applying anywhere.”

They all turn to stare. Scott responds first, his voice sad and resigned, no question in his tone. “You’re still going.”

Stiles nods and they look away.

~

Surprisingly, Jackson is first. 

They’ve entered February now, when the bigger teen barks out something about wanting to run some drills with Stiles after practice, and while he is surprised, Stiles agrees. Scott and the rest of the team exit the field as soon as practice ends, rushing to change and go home, leaving Stiles and Jackson to stand alone on the field. He bluntly asks Stiles to play goalie, tossing his lacrosse stick between his hands while the smaller boy situates himself in front of the goal.

Almost immediately, Jackson begins pelting him with balls, not even bothering to hold back as he hurls each shot, clearly aiming for the boy and not the net. Catching on, Stiles doesn’t even get a chance to cry out, instead focusing on ducking, dodging, and deflecting. In the back of his mind, he is reminded of when he had wanted to punish Scott after his dad got hurt. Jackson’s eyes turn blue and he throws the next shot with everything he has. He nails Stiles in the ribs, the ball hitting his flesh with a loud _thud_ , the protective gear the only reason he doesn’t shatter a rib. 

This time Stiles does cry out, yelping and falling to his knees, wrapping an arm around his side. Jackson takes a step forward as if to check on him, but promptly stops himself. His eyes are angry, still glowing unnaturally, and his jaw is clenched in a way that tells Stiles he is probably growing fangs. The human glares up at him, his own eyes alight with rage.

“What the Hell, Jackson?! I know you have better control of this. Get ahold of yourself before you end up killing me and Derek kills _you_.”

A deep growl emanates from the other teen, but Stiles stands his ground, fingers clutching at the fabric around his chest and keeping his gaze fixed coldly on the werewolf. After a moment, Jackson lets out a frustrated snarl, throwing his lacrosse stick to the ground and turning his back to Stiles. He can see Jackson’s chest expand in deep breaths. After a minute he turns back around, eyes returned to their natural color, but still tense with anger.

“Why are you leaving?”

Stiles blinks in surprise, not expecting the question. “That’s what this is about?” His voice is painted with disbelief. “And your brilliant plan was, what, pummel me until I physically can’t leave? You honestly think that’s a good way to convince me to stay?” he snaps heatedly.

“Are we not good enough for you or something?!” Jackson spits out, his hands in fists at his sides. “After everything we’ve done for you–-"

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Stiles’ voice is so cold Jackson snaps his jaw shut, swallowing thickly as the boy’s eyes narrow in thinly veiled fury. When he speaks again his voice is soft, but no less intense. “You don’t get to act like I _owe you_ or something. Because I’ve done just as much for you and you know it.” He stands, forcing his arm down and his chest up despite the pain, matching the other teen’s stance like a challenge.

It takes a minute, but Jackson caves first, twisting his head to look to the side. “Then why are you leaving?” He sounds less angry this time. It’s still there, but so is the confusion and hurt and desperate sadness. “We’re supposed to be a pack. We’re supposed to stick together! After all the crap we went through, why are you leaving now? What do you want from us?”

“It has nothing to _do_ with you!” Stiles cries out in frustration, throwing his arms to the side and lets his eyes dart around the field, as if he’ll find the perfect words there. “Jackson, I care about you guys, ALL of you guys,” he emphasizes, looking pointedly at the boy in front of him. “This is _my_ issue. It’s just… something in my blood.” 

Jackson still won’t look at him. “I use to be a real jerk to you,” he states honestly, flicking his eyes to the ground and lowering his voice. “I still am.”

Stiles blinks in realization. “Jackson, I’m not leaving because of you.”

“I haven’t given you a reason to stay, either.” Now they lock eyes. There is no challenge this time, no anger or hostility or residual blame for past and present wrongs. Somewhere in that look of shared guilt, Stiles hears the silent apology. He hopes Jackson hears his as well.

Finally, Jackson snaps his head away abruptly, wiping his face with his arm brusquely before nodding towards Stiles. “How’s your side?”

Rolling up his jersey, they both wince at the already impressive bruise forming across his ribs, purple blooming quickly and promising to darken. Stiles hastily pulls his shirt back down, throwing Jackson a toothy grin. “It looks worse then it is.” 

Grunting the werewolf gestures for Stiles to follow him back to the locker room. “Come on, you should put some ice on that.”

Nodding in agreement, the smaller teen quickly rushes forward until he can fall into step beside the other boy. Halfway there, Jackson brings his hand up to carefully grip Stiles’ shoulder. Neither breaks the companionable silence because neither needs to. 

~

March comes quicker than expected, and the end of the year doesn’t seem as far off as it once did. The pack informs Stiles of their after-graduation plans. Scott will be attending the local community college, while Allison and Jackson got into the State college about twenty minutes away. Lydia got a partial scholarship into one of the UC schools forty minutes away. They all agreed to stay in Beacon Hills, getting apartments in the area and commuting when needed. They all want to stay around their Alpha.

Derek, after much pressuring mostly from Allison and Stiles, agrees to take some courses at the community college with Scott so that he can hopefully get a better job than the manual labor he currently does when he needs extra cash. The werewolf occasionally stops by Stiles’ room, shocking the younger teen by not asking for anything, simply wanting his company. They discuss what classes he wants to take, what ones he should take, and the ones that Stiles begrudgingly admits he would take if he stayed. 

Despite the attempts of everyone around him, Stiles is always careful to steer the conversation away from his decision to leave, always turning it back to what the others’ plans were. He tries to be subtle, but every time he deflected around Derek, the werewolf frowns and nudges the boy’s shoulder with his own. He never says anything, never calls the boy out on it, just gives a silent acknowledgement that he notices. 

Stiles leans into the touch every time, smiling and pointedly ignoring the way Derek lets him.

~

March is coming to a close when Lydia and Jackson get into an argument during lunch. It starts off as something stupid, some movie that they can’t agree on, and then it escalates to not respecting each other’s opinions, not caring what the other thinks, until they are full on shouting at each other in the cafeteria about how Jackson treats Lydia like a trophy girlfriend and how Lydia treats Jackson like he’s stupid. For a moment, Stiles had been afraid they would wolf out right there with half the school staring at them. Allison had just recovered from the flu and was spending her lunch making up a missed exam, so when the two teens storm off in opposite directions, Scott and Stiles exchange a quick glance before Scott runs after Jackson, probably to punch out his emotions in the gym, and Stiles jogs after Lydia.

He follows the strawberry-blonde outside and around the side of the main building. By the time he catches up, she is sitting on the grass, back against the brick wall behind her and practically trembling as she fights back angry tears. 

Stiles lowers himself beside her. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes.

Lydia clenches her fingers in front of her, nails extending ever so slightly before retracting again. “He just… Ugh! He makes me so mad sometimes! I mean, does he honestly think he can just brush aside my opinions? I am the top of the social ladder in this school for a reason, he cannot just treat me like some…some…fling!” she growls out, throwing one arm behind her to punch blindly at the wall, luckily only causing a small crack.

The other boy nods sympathetically. “I know. Boys are stupid sometimes.”

His words have the desired effect as Lydia lets out a huff of laughter. Smiling, and noticing that the girl doesn’t seem to have any wolfish attributes at the moment, Stiles continues cautiously, “But to be fair, you could probably treat Jackson a bit better too.”

She snaps her head around, and Stiles quickly throws up his hands in a peacemaking gesture. “I’m just saying, we all know how smart you are now, but how honest with him are you really? How honest are you guys with _each other_? I mean, communication is an important factor of relationships and you two don’t seem to be particularly skilled at that aspect.”

Grumbling, Lydia turns away and crosses her arms, but her brow is furrowed in consideration. After a minute or so, she finally responds reluctantly, “I suppose maybe I did overreact. I just get defensive. Too many guys have thought they could get away with treating me like an object instead of a girlfriend.”

There is another moment of silence. This time, the boy next to her deep in thought.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles blurts out.

Lydia turns to him and raises an eyebrow, “What for?”

“For…” It takes a moment, because as much as Stiles talks, he’s still not that good with words. “For the way I used to act around you, and treat you. I mean, looking back on it, I wasn’t much better than any of your past boyfriends. I just sort of… blindly pursued you. Despite all my declarations of love, it wasn’t until all this werewolf stuff that I really even got to know you.” He pauses momentarily. “And I think I always knew that I didn’t love you, at least not in that way. But still…” He shakes his head, glancing away guiltily. “I don’t know. I just sort of feel like I used you.”

The strawberry-blonde doesn’t seem particularly concerned, even scoffing a bit. “Stiles, trust me, you would have known if you ever really did anything to bother me. I found your affections…flattering. Even if they weren’t reciprocated. And even if you know me better now, you still knew me better then than anyone else at the time. After all, you were one of the only ones who knew about my IQ.”

“Still…”

“It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not.”

The statement was quiet, and accepting. There is a beat of silence before Lydia responds, “Okay, it’s not.” He tilts his head more towards her. “You shouldn’t use people, intentionally or otherwise. Don’t do that.” She slips her hand into his, entwining their fingers casually. “But I forgive you.” Stiles glances up just as she shrugs. “Thinking on it now, I never really did the whole, ‘treat others as you want to be,’ or whatever. It’s not like I’m exactly innocent of using people, either.” Her eyes flick to his. “I’m not even innocent of using you.”

Stiles smiles, and squeezes her hand gently. “Then I forgive you, too.”

For a few minutes, the pair sits in companionable silence. But eventually Lydia turns to Stiles, and while she is smiling, her eyes are sad. “You’re still going to leave, aren’t you.”

It’s not a question, but Stiles still nods. “Yes.”

“Hm,” the teenager huffs, snapping her head forward and trying to look nonchalant and superior, trying to look like she does every other day. Her lower lip quivers. “Are you ever coming back? Or are you just going to disappear into the sunset and forget about us little people here in Beacon Hills?”

Gently, Stiles disentangles their fingers just long enough to switch hands, allowing his left arm to wrap around Lydia’s shoulders and pull her close enough to place a soft kiss on the side of her forehead.

“I’ll always come back.” Their heads rest together and Lydia closes her eyes, so she didn’t see the veil of misery that came over his features. “And you’ll forget me before I forget you.”

In his arms, Lydia opens her eyes and frowns, gripping the hand in hers just a little tighter. She wants to question, wants to delve deeper, and poke and prod and correct every false assumption this stupid boy is implying. But all that comes out is, “So never, then?”

There is a breath of silent laughter against her ear. “Never.”

When the two eventually part, Stiles goes home and plays video games like usual, and Lydia goes home and sits on her bed and tries not to cry because she thinks maybe the pack isn’t losing Stiles. She thinks maybe they lost him a long time ago.


	6. Chapter 6

Spring break is only a week long for Beacon Hills High, and it doesn’t even fall over Easter. As such, Stiles informs his dad and the pack that he’ll be gone for that week. His father is used to this and just tells him to be safe. The pack protests loudly until it is clear that they are only pushing Stiles further away.

The night before he plans to leave, he is struck with a terrible ( _wonderful_ ) sense of déjà vu when he opens his door to find Derek standing determinedly in the center of his room.

“I’m coming with you.”

Stiles only grins. “Same time. Don’t be late.” 

And that is that.

~

They can’t go as far this time, their travel limited by the length of Stiles’ vacation. Once on the road, he decides to go up to Seattle and then hit San Francisco on the way back.

It only takes them two days to reach The Emerald City. Stiles immediately parks the Jeep in the first available spot and proceeds to drag the alpha around the city, rattling off all the different things they need to see. They go to the Columbia Center, and the Seattle Central Library. When the light begins to fade, they rush to the Space Needle, riding to the top and entering the Sky City restaurant. They are seated and almost forget about the food, they are so enthralled by the slowly rotating room, which allows them to view the entirety of the city below them as the sun sets, casting a golden glow over the cityscape. 

Once night falls, Derek asks if they should get back to the car and get some sleep, but Stiles grins excitedly and tells him they have one more stop. The human leads the way to Pier 57, pointing eagerly at the massive Ferris wheel lit up against the darkened sky. They wait in line to get their tickets, Stiles babbling on the entire time about how amazing the view must be even coming from the space needle and do you think cities are prettier at night or at sun set, Derek? Which do you prefer?

Derek doesn’t know, so he just nods along noncommittally until they are finally shuffled into a gondola with three other people, a grandfather and his two young granddaughters, it looks like. 

Stiles bounces in his seat, clapping his hands in enthusiastically when they finally start to move. Derek puts a hand over his mouth to try to stifle his laugh at the sight of the teenager pressing his face against the glass beside the two small children doing exactly the same. He almost loses it when he glances over and shares a fond look of understanding with the older man.

But it is gorgeous. Derek looks out the window on his side and sees the skyline light up against the black backdrop of night and it takes his breath away. They are making their second revolution when he feels Stiles’ hand slip into his. He whips his head around, but Stiles is still facing his own window, one hand resting gently against the glass as he gazes over the city. For a moment, their eyes meet in the reflection against the window and Stiles smiles, squeezing his hand briefly before returning to the view. Derek looks down at their joined hands before turning away. But he doesn’t let go or pull away, even when the ride ends and they walk down the pier to return to the Jeep.

~

They are getting ready to leave, exiting the diner they had stopped in for breakfast, and Stiles is talking fast and animatedly about what they should see first in San Francisco because there’s so much to see and surely they won’t have time for it all so they should start making a list now. Suddenly, in his excitement, Stiles’ foot catches on the edge of the curb, sending him flailing to the ground, the skin of his right palm splitting open against the asphalt. Derek immediately helps him up, looking mildly worried and asking if he is alright, but Stiles only laughs, waving him away.

“Relax, it’s part of the process.” He holds up his left hand, and the werewolf can see a slight discoloration on the heel of the palm, taking in for the first time the faint scarring from numerous scrapes. Stiles grins. “It hurts different in every city.”

Something about that makes Derek’s heart thump just a little harder, makes his eyes widen and his chest tighten. He looks at the boy in concern but Stiles just smiles, taking the werewolf’s hand and leading him away even as he wipes the blood off on his jeans. The scent remains the rest of the trip.

~

“Stiles I want you to stay.”

The words come out of nowhere, breaking the companionable silence that had blanketed the car for the past hour or so. Derek isn’t sure why he said them at all, let alone now, but it’s out there now and he can’t take them back.

In the driver’s seat, Stiles snaps his head around to stare at Derek, just for a moment, doing a quick double-take before refocusing on the road. “Um…” He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “Why?”

Derek wishes he had thought of the answer to this sooner. As it is, he flounders for a moment. In all honesty, there are several answers. Stiles is pack, he is needed, they can’t do this without him, Derek just _wants him around_ , it’s too risky.

For whatever reason, it’s the last one that Derek latches onto.

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone,” he finally answers. “It’s not safe.”

Still watching the road, Stiles narrows his eyes, his voice lowering dangerously, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that there’s a lot of powerful things out there, Stiles. More than just werewolves. At least in Beacon Hills we could protect you.”

“Right, cause I always need protection,” Stiles snaps.

The alpha is about to respond when the car suddenly jerks, Stiles steering them haphazardly onto the side of the quiet road, throwing the car violently into park before turning to face Derek fully, his eyes clouded with a quiet rage. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been doing this for awhile, long before I met you, and I’ve taken care of myself just fine.”

Derek growls, “You weren’t immersed in this world then, it’s different now.”

“And last summer, I got through that because…?”

“Just because you got lucky once doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous!”

“And just because I’ve survived this long in Beacon Hills doesn’t mean I always will!” Their voices have risen to shouts, but now Stiles just lets out a huff of laughter, turning briefly back to the windshield. “God, and you wonder why I don’t want to stay.”

That makes Derek’s insides go cold. “What?”

“You think it’s easy living with you guys?” Stiles lowers his voice, but the tremor of resentment is still there. “I’m the human. I’m not weak, I’m the _human_ , but no one else seems to get that. You all put me in this box the second this all began, just decided that I was the one who needed protecting, or whatever.”

“Stiles, we just don’t want anything to happen to you.” Derek tries to keep his voice soft to appease the boy he did not mean to antagonize. It is too late.

“Where were you when Scott tried to kill me?” he hisses out, showing no sympathy even as the alpha flinches. “Where were you when Peter was going after Scott’s mom? Where were _any_ of you when he came after _me_?” Stiles takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but this has been building for a long time, and he can’t bring himself to hold back now. “I will always be in danger. I could walk outside and be killed by a werewolf, or a hunter, or a damn drunk driver. So could anyone else. I am not special. Do not treat me like I’m defenseless just because my teeth aren’t as long as yours.”

Derek blinks, unsure of how to fix something that he broke without even realizing. “Stiles, none of us think that-“

“Yes you do,” he cuts the alpha off. “I can see it in the way you talk and act, and hold yourselves around me. You’re werewolves and hunters, and you are _untouchable_. Especially compared to someone like me.” A slow, humorless smirk spreads across his face. “But you’re not. I’ve seen you, all of you, brought to your knees. Wolfsbane and crossbows and elements you can’t control. But you all forget that the second you stand up again and focus your attention on poor little Stiles who can’t lift a car so he obviously can’t take care of himself. And it is exhausting to know that there is absolutely nothing I can do to convince you otherwise.”

“Stiles–”

“It’s hard,” his voice is clipped and terse, “to go through everything that we do, knowing that in the end, it doesn’t matter what I do, or what I sacrifice, or how often I protect you, or how often I save your fucking life.” Stiles keeps his eyes on Derek, even as his body shifts to restart the car and throw it in drive. “You’ll only ever remember the times you save mine.”

The road is smooth and even, and Stiles drives just a touch under eighty, and Derek stares at him, lips barely parted. More than anything he wants to speak, to tell the human that he is wrong, so wrong. But he’d be lying.

So they sit in silence, driving until the sun sets and then rises again and they finally need to stop for fuel.

~

A few hours later, they reach their destination. Stiles directs Derek to pull off at an exit just before the golden gate bridge. Driving into Vista Point, they circle the parking lot three times before finally snagging a parking spot. Stepping out of the car, they are immediately hit by a gust of wind. The sky is a stormy grey, and looking out over the bay they can see the fog flit through the city. The water is turbulent, and there are few boats willing to deal with the wild waves. Derek and Stiles stand close as they lean over the railing, gazing across the water at the bridge and the city, trying to shield each other from the cold.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles voice is soft and tired sounding, but Derek still twists his head swiftly to stare at him as if he had shouted. The human sighs and continues, “About what I said before. I mean…” He shakes his head and turns to face Derek fully. “Not about what I said, because I meant all that, and you needed to hear it. But I need you to understand, that is _not_ why I’m leaving.”

The alpha feels his heart clench, and even though he can hear the steadiness in the teenager’s heart, he still can’t bring himself to believe it. “Stiles–”

“I just wanted to tell you that,” he cuts in. “Let’s not argue now.” Turning, he faces the city again before leaning over to rest his head and shoulder against the werewolf. “Not now.”

Derek can’t bring himself to deny his request, so he nods and wraps an arm loosely around him, and stares silently out at the restless sea.

~

At the end of May, Allison approaches Stiles after school. He is haphazardly throwing his books and papers from his locker into his backpack, wanting to have everything he needed to get his homework done over the weekend but too lazy to be very thorough, when the girl comes to stand beside him. 

It wasn’t often that Stiles got to see Allison alone as the huntress was usually attached at the hip to Stiles’ best friend, but they have still grown close during their time together, bonding over their mutual lack of claws. Also, third wheel or not, Stiles was present for most of the turns in Allison and Scott’s relationship, often acting as a middle man between them. He and the pretty girl had bonded a few times after she got in a fight with Scott and needed someone to rant to who knew exactly the kind of shit the werewolf could pull, even unintentionally.

So when he sees Allison now, approaching Stiles on her own, he can’t help but smile. “Hey, what’s up?”

Shrugging, she responds, “Not much. But I was wondering, did you want to grab a milkshake with me?”

Surprised by the request, Stiles still nods eagerly, always up for delicious frosty drinks. They walk to the parking lot together before getting into their respective cars, agreeing to meet at one of the fast-food chains nearby. It takes them only a few minutes, and soon they are inside, sitting across from each other in a booth and sipping on their drinks. They talk about school and finals and pack meetings, and all the normal stuff. It’s not until half an hour later, when they’re walking out the door, that Allison lays a gentle hand on Stiles’ arm.

“Stiles…Are you really going away after graduation?”

Shifting his weight between his feet, he gives the huntress an earnest look. “Yeah, I am. But I’ll still see you, and talk to you. I won’t be, like… gone.”

Stiles expects a fight, or an argument, or an accusation. Instead, Allison just smiles and nods. She pulls him into a hug, embracing him firmly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

When they pull apart, she places her hand on the side of his face, stroking his cheek soothingly with her thumb and smiling warmly. “We’ll always be here for you, okay?”

Nodding, Stiles returns the smile, his chest feeling tight from her honest sincerity. 

“Yeah. I know.”

~

Scott is last, and he waits until the day of their high school graduation. 

They’re almost done. Finals are over, each student managing to pass and celebrating with a week of senior activities and private bonding nights. Prom has come and gone, the two pack couples spending the evening together while Stiles chose to stay home, Derek eventually showing up unannounced and staying once Stiles convinced him that he absolutely could not go through life not having seen the Matrix trilogy. Their senior year is over, and the only thing left to do is graduate.

Stiles and Scott are both lounging in Stiles’ room in the hours before they must return to the school for the last time, reminiscing and joking about all the crazy things they did in high school, not even including the supernatural parts. The two boys are carefree and lighthearted as they debate about what to wear under their gowns since no one would see it anyway and discussing what they should do at Grad Night.

Eventually though, Scott’s expression turns melancholy. 

“Stiles, man…Stay.”

“Scott…”

“Please.” His voice is pleading and desperate. He is seated on Stiles’ bed while Stiles sits on the floor, his back against his desk. “Please. You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine.” Stiles’ eyes are pained as he tries to explain. “And you still _will_ be. I’m not dying, or cutting all ties. I just need to move.”

“Away from me?” 

Stiles’ eyes flutter closed, unable to bear the look of confusion and hurt on his best friend’s face. Taking a few deep breaths, the human stands abruptly, quickly seating himself beside the young werewolf. When he opens his eyes, he looks at Scott and grasps his shoulder encouragingly. “Let’s not do this today, Scott.” The other boy opens his mouth to protest but Stiles promptly cuts him off. “Come on! We’re _graduating_ today! Don’t act like it’s our last day together, act like it’s out last day of _high school_!”

He shakes the other boy, who can’t help but let out a laugh, eyes wide with excitement at the prospect. “Tonight, we are nothing but happy. No mention of the summer or what comes after, promise?” Scott hesitates, so he reiterates, “ _Promise_?”

Finally, he nods, smiling genuinely. “Yeah, promise.”

“Excellent! Now where were we? Right! Pros and cons of hiding firecrackers for after the ceremony…”

Scott laughs, and Stiles thinks they will be okay.

~

“High School is a time of transformation. No one leaves the same as they entered. Not everyone likes who they become, and not everyone is given a choice in the matter. We are shaped by our experiences, and high school is an experience that is… life-changing. In the four years that we have walked these halls, some people found love, and some found family. Some people had to lose before they could gain. Some people had to learn to rise from the ashes and rebuild, even when others tried to shoot them down again and again. No matter what anyone tells you, high school is _real_. It’s real life, full of pain and joy and hope. But I tell you now, as we prepare to move forward and move on, that high school is over. Not our friendships, or our loves, or our lives, but this place, this time. It’s a part of our past now, another layer to reveal beneath our skin. While we should never forget the great, terrible, beautiful transformations that happened here, there is so much more waiting for you on the other side. More changes, more motion, more bonds. The chance to affirm your love, confess your love, or find your love. To create and discover. It’s all out there, waiting. I promise you, whatever you’re looking for, it’s waiting for you. 

Congratulations class of 2012.”


	7. Chapter 7

Lydia’s speech is beautiful, the valedictorian standing tall and proud before her peers and Stiles knows he saw more than a couple of people trying to subtly wipe away tears. It feels like an out of body experience to see Allison walk down the aisle, and then Lydia, and Scott, before Stiles and Jackson follow to join them. They pull their tassels from one side to the other before throwing their caps high into the air. 

The five teens embrace each other, individually and then finally joining together, standing as a pack. They eventually part, Scott and Allison sharing one last kiss before searching for Melissa and the Argents respectively, while Lydia and Jackson stand to the side, wrapped in each other’s arms in a rare display of genuine affection, whispering quietly to each other, content to let their parents find them. 

Stiles shuffles through the crowd, head turning every way trying to find his dad. He finds a gap in the mass and tries to decided which way to go. As he is looking, his eyes fall to a shadow beside the bleachers. Derek stands half hidden, body still and stoic as ever. But there is a smile on his face, full of pride and joy, and when Stiles waves at him he actually waves back. A moment later, the sheriff breaks through the crowd and pulls Stiles into an enthusiastic hug, all the while saying how proud he is and he can’t believe his little boy is all grown up, and by the time Stiles turns around, Derek is gone.

He smiles, returning his attention to his father, and knowing that Derek is still there, even if he can’t see him.

~

Stiles waits two weeks. There is a lot of pack bonding, spontaneous trips to water parks or the beach, as well as many nights spent staying up late with his father, talking about nothing and everything, always with an undercurrent of silent reassurance.

But eventually, Stiles looks around him and realizes it’s time to go.

The packing process is more thorough this time, not just shoving some clothes and a toothbrush into a backpack. Now he has suitcases, and he fills them with all of his clothes, a few books and CDs, and his laptop. His passport had arrived in the mail three days earlier, and he places it carefully among the rest of his possessions. A mound forms on his bed of miscellaneous items that he will store in his car, blankets and a first-aid kit and mace. There is a moment of hesitation, but finally Stiles moves over to his desk. Opening the top drawer, his fingers brush against a thin pile of photos, picking them up to flip through the stack. 

The group didn’t take a lot of pictures, partly because no one ever really thought of it and partly because they were usually too busy either enjoying themselves or running for their lives to try to capture the moment on film. Stiles can’t help but chuckle at the few pictures he does have. Some of the shots with the entire pack have so much lens flare that you could barely make out what the picture was of. But some of them made it. There is one of Scott kissing Allison on the cheek, both of their eyes closed in affection. Stiles caught one of Jackson and Lydia, foreheads pressed together and wrapped in each others’ arms, the flash of their eyes shining between them like a halo. There is a picture of one of their movie nights, and one that Allison had taken of the other five sleeping peacefully, piled practically on top of each other on Derek’s couch. 

Flipping to the next photo, Stiles realizes he’s reached the end of the stack. The last photo was the one of himself and Derek, the Hollywood sign in the background looking dull compared to the light shining from Derek’s eyes. 

A loud _thump_ sounds behind him and Stiles whirls around, coming face to face with the real Derek Hale, hands in his pockets and staring at the luggage covering the teen’s bed.

“Derek! We’ve talked about this! A little warning, or something! You don’t even have to use the window anymore, you got the old man’s approval!”

Snorting, the werewolf continues looking at everything piled before him. “So, do you know where you’re…?” He gestures vaguely with one hand.

Stiles shrugs. “I’ve got my passport now, so I was thinking about going up to Canada. Hit a few spots there, maybe go over to Alaska. After that, who knows?” He tries to smile, but he doesn’t seem quite as excited as he should be. Derek finally turns to him and, after a moment of hesitation and internal debate, he speaks.

“Don’t go.”

Stiles sighs, putting the photos in his hand down and bracing his arms against his desk. “Derek–”

“I _want_ you to stay,” The alpha blurts out, speaking swiftly as he tries to get all the words out before he can think better if them. “That’s it. There’s no–no other _reason_ , other than I just want you to.” 

Across from him, the boy is staring at him in disbelief, but he keeps going anyway. “I like the way you’re so full of energy, and life. I like the way you hold my hand without even thinking about it. I like the way there can’t be silence around you. And… I like how I am when I’m around you. I feel… not exactly the same, but… but _more_ like I was before the fire.”

Stiles is still frozen. Derek thinks this may have been a mistake but he knows he’ll regret it if he doesn’t finish now that he’s started. He steps forward, his hand hovering hesitantly next to Stiles’ face before finally settling on his shoulder. Quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid, he leans in and kisses him.

It only takes a second for Stiles to return the kiss, his arms coming up to wrap around Derek’s back, hands pressed against his shoulder blades, while Derek brings his free hand to tangle in the short hairs at the nape of Stiles’ neck. When they finally break away, he is so relieved, so blindingly happy that Stiles feels the same, that he speaks without thinking.

“Please stay.”

He can feel the younger boy tense in his arms, and he has barely a moment to process it before Stiles is pulling away, pushing him back with his eyes clenched shut, bringing one hand to cover his mouth.

“That’s not fair.”

Derek blinks, confused. He doesn’t know what he’s done. “Stiles–”

“You can’t use this against me!” Stiles exclaims, shocking the alpha into silence. “You can’t… can’t use my feelings for you against me.”

“I’m not-“

“Really? All this time, everything that’s happened between us, all those stupid little moments where I thought maybe I had a chance, but you never did anything. And now you wait until the day before I leave to tell me how you feel? To give me an actual damn declaration and you expect me to believe it’s not some ploy to keep me here?”

There is a pause, and Derek considers his words carefully. “I don’t want you to leave. But that’s _not_ why I said all that. I’m just…I’m not good at this kind of stuff! At relationships and feelings, so yeah, it took me seeing you packing to man up, but I’m not trying to trick you. I want you to stay, because _I want you to stay_.”

The teen leans back against the wall next to his door, facing the floor with a look of pain in his eyes. “It doesn’t work that way.”

Sensitive ears pick up a stutter in the boy’s heart. Not a lie, but not the truth either.

Stiles looks up again, this time in desperation. “Come with me. If you mean all that, just come with me.”

Derek shakes his head. “You know I can’t. The pack is here. You can’t ask me to leave them.”

“And you can’t ask me to stay.” His voice trembles and he lets out a huff of laughter. “There’s no changing what’s in our blood.”

Another stuttering _bahbahthump_ in his chest.

The human turns away for a moment, running a shaking hand over his face as if he could mask the scent of saltwater. “I’m sorry.” _For everything_. “I need to pack.”

Beneath his ribs, Derek feels like his heart is breaking. He doesn’t want to leave, but he can see that Stiles needs him to, and so he nods and slowly climbs onto the windowsill. Just as he is preparing to leap down and run away for all he is worth, he thinks of all the things that have been said between them, and what they mean, and what they imply. He turns around one last time.

“I’m not going to stop caring about you just because you’re gone.”

He runs as fast as he can, but he still hears the first sob escape Stiles’ throat.

~

The next morning, four howls echo through Beacon Hills, full of sadness and farewell, as the rumble of a Jeep engine passes the city limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ALMOST ENDED IT HERE. COULD YOU IMAGINE? I WROTE THIS AND I CAN'T IMAGINE.


	8. Epilogue

Six months. Six months, Stiles Stilinski has been gone from Beacon Hills. When he had first left, Derek had spent the first week trying to convince himself that he would be fine. He had been fine before Stiles, he would have no trouble moving on now.

It didn’t work. Even when the rest of his pack filled his home, arguing or joking, everything had a veil of silence over it. Nothing sounded right without the undertones of Stiles’ chatter. That didn’t mean life didn’t continue, because it did whether Derek wanted it to or not. He joined his pack when they searched for apartments between their respective schools and Beacon Hills. Lydia and Allison decided to share a two bedroom apartment. Jackson’s parents helped him pay for a studio, and Scott was living at home for an extra year to save up more. It was strange for Derek, to see these kids, his pack, who had become his family, make this first step into adulthood.

Eventually classes started, each teen becoming busier with homework and tests and essays. They started making friends, joining clubs, and study groups full of outsiders. But every weekend, they always came together again, sharing their new lives with their pack.

For awhile, Derek felt like he was falling behind. He took courses part-time, mostly business courses that he felt would be easy to apply anywhere, but he never talked to anyone, or made any sort of effort to approach his peers. It occurred to him that he didn’t know how to interact with normal people anymore.

Things got a little better in September, when the alpha got a job at the campus library. It suited him. It was quiet and allowed him to practice his social interaction without forcing him into uncomfortable situations. He spent his evenings stacking books, making small talk with the students who checked sources out, and occasionally answering simple questions. 

At the end of the month, Derek received the first text. He knew that the other members of his pack had been in touch with Stiles, determinedly calling him at least once a week, but they tried not to bring it up around Derek, knowing that the wound was still raw. He tried a few times, but every time the alpha would pick up his phone, thumb hovering over the call button, he would always toss it away, unable to bring himself to try to talk to the second stupid human to break his heart. But then one day, when he was running home from his night shift at the library, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Stopping, he flipped it open. It was from Stiles. Hesitating, he finally clicked to open the text.

It was a picture message. The photo was of a lighthouse, old and weathered, whitecaps breaking against the rocks below it. It was night in the image, and the beam of light had just passed over the camera, creating a flare eerily similar to the ones created by werewolves. 

There were no words, and Stiles himself was nowhere in the picture, and Derek didn’t respond to it. But he didn’t delete it either. After that, the texts became more frequent. Roughly once a week, Derek received a quick little snapshot, a man dressed as a werewolf for Halloween in New Orleans or the pyramids of Teotihuacan. Although no words were exchanged and Stiles never sent pictures of himself, the messages came and Derek allowed himself to hold onto this one tie, to at least pretend that he could maybe be the boy’s friend.

And then in December, Stiles comes back.

Derek wakes with a picture of the “Welcome to Beacon Hills” sign in his phone and he feels his heart flutter. Sure enough, when he goes to check, there are two cars in the Stilinski’s driveway. 

Stiles spends the first day with his dad. Derek doesn’t know what they talk about, and he can’t bring himself to eavesdrop. The second day, Scott bursts into Stiles’ room, and he would have broken his friend’s ribs in a too powerful hug had Jackson not arrived seconds later to pull him off and scold him for losing control. Lydia and Allison enter moments later, and the group spends the day sitting in Stiles room, exchanging stories and laughing as if they had never been separated. 

On the third day, Stiles calls Derek.

“Hey, I really need to talk to you. Can you…Will you meet me? Um, maybe at Lori’s diner or something?”

The alpha counts to five in his head, and then he says yes.

It is still early when they meet, not even noon yet. There is a moment of awkwardness when they first see each other, both unsure how they are supposed to greet the other. Eventually they settle for a quick shoulder clap before seating themselves in a booth at the back of the room. 

They both ignore the waitress when she comes to give them the menus. Derek is taking in the sight of the boy he has missed so much. He didn’t fully realize it until he was sitting in front of him. Derek really missed Stiles. The human’s hair is a little longer, still short but not quite the buzz cut he normally keeps it at. At first, Derek tries to start some clumsy small talk, but Stiles only shakes his head.

“That’s not why I’m here, Derek. I…” He swallows harshly, eyes darting everywhere but to the man in front of him.

“I shot you down,” Stiles blurts out.

Derek’s jaw clenches, and he has to pry his teeth apart to respond. “Yeah, I noticed.”

A huff of humorless laughter escapes from the human, and Derek has a split second to notice the glassiness of his eyes before they shutter closed. “So after…After hurting you so bad…How horrible of a person must I be to…” He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, trying to muster up courage, before raising his head to gaze at the older man. “Am I even allowed to ask for a second chance?”

There is a moment, where Derek wants to say no. Wants to stand up and leave, wants to hurt Stiles as much as he hurt Derek. Because the past six months have been hell and a tiny part of him, the very human, prideful part, wants Stiles to feel the same. 

But when he looks at the boy, _really_ looks at him, he sees everything he had been trying to ignore. He sees the rings under his eyes, like bruises against too pale flesh. He sees the way his hands tremble, his teeth clench, his breaths stutter. More than that, he sees the raw pain in Stiles’ eyes, and Derek wonders if the past six months haven’t been hell for him too. 

So Derek nods slowly, thoughtfully, because the entire time he thought he had lost Stiles forever, he wasn’t thinking about how much he wanted the boy to suffer. He thought about how much he wanted him to come back. He nods, because a second chance for Stiles is a second chance for him as well.

Stiles lets out a hissing breath between his teeth, his head falling forward and his whole body seeming to collapse in on itself. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. He takes a deep breath, and tries to subtly wipe his face, straightens his body, trying to pull himself together for just a little longer. 

“I knew, even when I left, that I loved you. I knew that I loved you enough to stay. But I…I didn’t want to believe in that, that there was anything that existed that I could love more than moving, that I could love enough that the need to move just…Went away.”

There is a pause. Derek looks at Stiles, and Stiles stares at his hands. “Because the thing is, if there was going to be anything that a person could love enough to make them actually want to stay…” His voice drops, and even with enhanced hearing Derek has to strain to catch the words, “ _wouldn’t that be your kid?_ ”

It is then that Derek realizes that in the entire year he spent chasing after Stiles, he had never asked him about this. Never thought to wonder whether wanderlust was genetic, and why the Stilinski house had so few pictures of the lost mother. 

Reaching out, he hesitantly lays his hand over Stiles’, even as the boy shakes his head, smiling self-deprecatingly. “But, that’s not important. It doesn’t matter.” It does. It really, really does. But the boy is talking again and Derek doesn’t want to interrupt, and so he quietly files this moment away for another time. “The point is, I left, and I though that once I was gone I’d find out I was right, that the ache would go away and it’d be just like before. But everywhere I went, and everything I did… all I could think about was you. I kept thinking, ‘Ah, Derek would love this,’ or ‘I can’t wait to tell Derek about this’ and most of all ‘I wish Derek was here.’ Everything revolved around you and I was more excited to see you again than I was to go.” He glances out the window, staring at the quiet street. “I’ve never dreaded coming back…But I’ve never wanted to, either.” Stiles shifts his hand, grasping at Derek’s and finally meeting his eyes. “Derek, more than anything I never want to leave you again.”

Derek feels his breath hitch, because all this time he has been telling himself that he needs to move on, never allowing himself to hope that this moment could come. He thinks this would be the moment when he gives some sort of heartfelt declaration and maybe sheds a few tears before whisking the other boy into the sunset. Instead, he swallows thickly and smiles, grasping Stiles’ hand a little harder.

“Then welcome back.”

Neither lets go, holding tightly to each other even when they finally leave, smiling and imperceptibly wiping at their eyes.

It’s not perfect. Sometimes Derek acts angry when he’s afraid Stiles will leave, and sometimes Stiles snaps when he feels like he’s being patronized. But it works. Stiles applies for the spring semester at the community college and shares a studio apartment with Scott. He gets a part-time job with the student council giving tours to groups of high school students, mouth running full speed as he chatters about the campus’ history and all the numerous reasons they should come here and let him tell you all about it. Sometimes he goes to the library during Derek’s shift and sits at a table in the back, flipping through books that have nothing to do with his classes and occasionally whispering secret messages to his werewolf. 

Time passes before their eyes, and the pack grows up, and out, and closer. Stiles never even mentions wanting to leave again, but that doesn’t stop Derek from buying two plane tickets every year on the human’s birthday. And on their first anniversary, and every one after, the two men will get into their car at five o’clock sharp and pick a direction. And every time, they somehow find themselves on a long, barren road, laying in each others’ arms on the roof, and staring up at the infinite stars, which look like they’re shining just for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of people with wanderlust (mostly relatives. It really is genetic). I know people who settled down, had families, and hated it because they couldn’t leave. I know someone who settled down, had a family, and left. I know a few people who fell in love but it didn’t work out because they couldn’t stay. I know one person who claims they’ve never been in love.
> 
> And I know one person, whose six year anniversary is in a few months, who told me that she doesn’t even think about it anymore. She still loves to travel, but she said that the _need_ is gone.
> 
> Even if statistically the other outcomes are more common, I like her story better. So that’s the one I incorporated.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading! If you liked this, check out my other works, too! If not, I can respect that so have a nice day anyway! :)


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